


words we never needed | a 15x06 coda

by gilliestiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 15x06, Dean & Eileen friendship, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Chuck - Freeform, Saileen - Freeform, Spoilers, mentions of Castiel, mentions of deancas, told from eileen's pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:00:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21527974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilliestiel/pseuds/gilliestiel
Summary: Sam doesn't need words to open up his arms, and Eileen doesn't need words to settle into his embrace.(Or: The breath of life has Eileen falling for Sam all over again.and,Eileen helps a friend with a broken heart.)
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 5
Kudos: 106





	words we never needed | a 15x06 coda

**Author's Note:**

> hi! this is a coda i wrote for 15x06 (which is my FAVORITE episode of the season so far, just btw.) 
> 
> i liked writing this a lot. i enjoyed telling the story from eileen's eyes; she's such an interesting character to me, and i love her a lot.
> 
> ALSO, this fic has saileen, but it has deancas, too!! if you're here strictly for saileen, then this fic might annoy you a little bit towards the end. i just want to let y'all know, because i wanted to write both ships after watching the episode! it was just easiest to include it in one fic, which i just really wanted to tell from eileen's point of view, so yeah!
> 
> hope you all enjoy <3

_as told through the eyes of Eileen Leahy._

—

Warmth rushes through her bones as Sam curls his fingers between hers, holding tightly onto her hand. She’d been dead for so long that she almost forgot the feelings that came with being held — with being touched by someone you love. Tears rise to Eileen’s eyes. Not the first ones since she was resurrected, of course, but Sam wipes them away all the same. With his free hand, he reaches up and brushes a stray tear from her cheek, his touch light and gentle against her skin. She leans into his touch, a quiet invitation for him to leave his hand there for a little while longer. He does.

“How are you feeling?” Sam asks her. He gently squeezes her hand, and Eileen has no reason to fight the smile that rises to her lips. She’s a little dazed and confused, still in so much disbelief that this is actually _real_ , that she’s actually alive again. But she’s also _happy._ Every time she meets Sam’s eyes, her heart swells with gratitude because she’s here, and he’s here, and they’re okay. They’re together.

“I’m happy,” she replies. “Really, _really_ happy.”

Sam returns her smile — a big, genuine smile that reaches his sparkling eyes and lights up every feature of his face. Eileen could get used to seeing this look on him. She knows Sam, knows that he hasn’t had the easiest go at life and carries a lot more weight on his shoulders than he should. Even before Eileen died the first time around, she grew to realize that Sam never really let himself feel any kind of pure, unrelented joy. He never admitted this to Eileen, of course, but she could tell. There was always a reason for him to hurt, to crumble under the weight of burdens that were not always his to bear.

And now? Now, Sam found a way to bring Eileen back, but she knows it’s not just her being here that brought on this smile. It’s the fact that Sam has what it takes to make right from wrong. Eileen always knew he had it in him, and now, maybe he knows, too.

Sam removes his hand from her cheek and signs, “Me too.”

He lets go of Eileen’s hand and wraps his arms around her, pulling her in as close as he possibly can. A sigh of content dances past Eileen’s lips, and she snuggles so close to his chest that she can feel the rhythmic beat of his heart. They stay like that for a while, finding safety in each other’s warmth and holding onto each other as if they’ll never let go again.

(And they won’t. Not ever. Eileen will make sure of that.)

—

Exhaustion hits Eileen pretty early into the night. She’s enjoying a nice dinner of greasy cheese pizza with Sam and Dean when she realizes she can barely keep her eyes open. Sam quickly takes notice and offers up one of the guest bedrooms to her. It’s not like she has anywhere else to stay the night; not at this point in time, anyway. Not to mention it’s past sundown, and after everything that’s gone down during these past few years, she’d much rather be under the same roof as the Winchesters than out there with whatever might be lurking in the shadows tonight. So she nods, swallows her last mouthful of pizza (which, considering it’s her first meal since coming back to life, tastes absolutely _incredible_ ) and stands up from the table alongside Sam. Eileen pretends not to notice the smirk that creeps onto Dean’s face when Sam takes her hand in his. She hides her face from the older Winchester brother, knowing full well he can make out the Sam-induced blush that has made its way to her cheeks even in the dim kitchen lighting. It’s not that she cares if Dean knows she likes his brother — it’s just that it’s still so new. She was only just starting to sort out her feelings for Sam when she died, and now that she’s back, they can kind of pick up where they left off, but not really. It’s arguably the strangest situation she’s ever been in, sharing her heart with the man who brought her back from the dead.

When they reach the bedroom, Eileen asks Sam if he’ll stay with her until she falls asleep.

“It’ll just make me feel better, after everything that’s happened,” she tells him. “I hope that’s okay.”

Sam smiles softly. He closes the door, understanding her unspoken wish to make this little space theirs (and only theirs) for the next couple of hours. “Of course it’s okay.”

He turns around while Eileen gets ready for bed. She removes the velvety sweatpants Sam lent her — an old pair, slightly smaller in size than what he’d wear now and safety pinned in the back to keep them from falling off. Considering her resurrected body didn’t exactly come with a fresh set of clothes, Sam was kind enough to find something for her to wear, despite the fact that this bunker is typically occupied by men. She leaves on the red flannel shirt that nearly reaches her knees (also courtesy of Sam) and settles into the bed, pulling the white sheets up to her chest.

“Sam,” she says, letting him know that it’s okay to turn around. He does, and there’s that smile again, illuminating his face the moment his eyes land on her. There’s nothing special about the way Eileen looks right now — she’s almost positive there are bags under her eyes, and she’s sure she’s still complete frazzled mess — but she knows none of that matters to Sam. It’s the fact that they’re here, _together_ They don’t say a word to each other as Sam lies beside her on top of the comforter, but it’s okay, because they don’t need them. Sam doesn’t need words to open up his arms, and Eileen doesn’t need words to settle into his embrace.

The two of them, they’ve always known they don’t need words to communicate. Sam speaks to her, loud and clear, in ways she doesn’t need to hear to understand. He speaks to her in the way he rubs comforting circles on her back and presses his lips to her forehead. He speaks to her by holding her close to his beating heart, which lulls Eileen to sleep as she thinks about how what they’ve shared together has always been enough.

—

Sleep comes easy at first, but it doesn’t stick around for long. A series of nightmares throw Eileen back into consciousness, leaving her trembling beneath the covers, her skin cold and sticky with sweat. No, not nightmares — _memories._ Despite being awake, images of hellfire flash past her eyes, and the memory of endless torture lingers like a ghost in her mind.

She rolls over on her side and glances at the digital clock on the bedside table. 3AM. Eileen huffs, considering the irony. Of course vivid memories of Hell would jolt her awake at the devil’s hour — after everything, she’s not sure why she should expect anything less. She squeezes her eyes shut and desperately tries to go back to sleep, but after nearly an hour of tossing and turning (and almost breaking down into tears a few times, because the flashbacks feel so _real_ and she just wishes they would stop), Eileen realizes that sleep probably isn’t in the cards for her tonight. 

She decides to get out of bed and make her way to the kitchen. Maybe some leftover pizza and a glass of water will make her feel better. At the very least, it’ll give her an excuse to take her mind off of everything else. She throws the covers back and shivers a little when the brisk air conditioning hits her legs. After flipping the light switch, she finds Sam’s sweatpants where she left them on the floor by the bed and puts them on. The safety pin is still in where she left it, yet she still has to roll down the waistband a few times to keep the pants from dropping to her knees with each step she takes.

If she was alone in this bunker (or if it was just her and Sam), she wouldn’t bother. She’d just wear the flannel and rock it on her way to the kitchen, but she’s been around long enough to know that Dean has made downing beers at the map table his 3AM routine. Given she was a ghost for weeks and didn’t have any idea how to control her spirit state, she always wound up tripping through walls and falling into random areas of the bunker at really inconvenient times.

She remembers when she first arrived at the bunker, confused and afraid. She had followed the brothers into Sam’s room, desperate to get them to see her, but she stopped when she overheard their conversation. Something about Rowena, who died to save them. Something about how Rowena’s death was Sam’s fault. Of course, Eileen learned today who Rowena was, and that there had been a lot more to her and Sam’s story than what the brothers let on that night — but in that moment, Eileen saw how much pain Sam was in, and she just wanted to be there for him. Even if he couldn’t see her, she thought maybe her presence might be enough, so she waited for Dean to leave the room and moved to sit beside him on the bed. But the lack of control over her ghost state meant falling through the bed, then through the floor, until suddenly she had landed in the main room, dazed and completely out of sorts.

When she finally managed to recuperate, she noticed that there were two people in the bunker. Dean, and someone who she’d never met before. It didn’t take her long to figure out who he was, though. Both brothers had mentioned him plenty of times before. It was Castiel, their trenchcoat-wearing angel friend.

She witnessed it all — everything that went down between Dean and Cas that night. All the hurtful words that had been spoken, and all the pain that lingered in the air after Cas walked out. She knew something was up, because Dean didn’t seem to let go of whatever triggered Castiel’s decision to leave. 

Eileen stayed around for a while. If she wasn’t in the bunker, she was wandering the streets of Lawrence, trying to find answers to her ghost problem or searching for a way to get the brothers to see her. When she _was_ in the bunker, however, she always ended up walking in on Dean. Each time she saw him, he seemed to be getting worse. During the day, when Sam was around, he’d put on his pajamas and shove food into his face and laugh everything off, but Eileen was the one who was there for the 3AM drinking and the frustrated tears and Dean’s cellphone, opened to a contact name with a number that he never actually clicked on.

Sure enough, after Eileen pours herself a glass of water and steals a slice of pizza from the fridge, she walks into the main room of the bunker and sees Dean seated at the map table. He looks like shit, and that’s the simplest way to put it. His hair is sticking up all over the place and the circles underneath his eyes are heavy and dark. There are three empty beer bottles scattered across the table, and he’s already working on a fourth. Feeling uncomfortable, Eileen tries to sneak back to her room, but she must be a little rusty on her stealth, because Dean looks up and catches her right away.

“Eileen,” he says. He drags her name out a little too long, so she can tell his speech is somewhat slurred. He might not be totally drunk yet, but he’s getting there. “What’re you doin’ up?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

Dean grunts. “I know the feeling.” He sips his beer, and Eileen stands there awkwardly, not sure if she should just walk away or not.

The elder brother sets the bottle back on the table and gestures towards her with his hand. “How’s it feel?” he asks. “To be back, I mean? ‘Cause I know, at least for me, I was pretty freaked the first time I came back from the dead.”

“I’m happy I’m back,” Eileen says. She shrugs. “It _is_ weird, though. It’s gonna take some getting used to.”

“Yeah, but you’ll get used to it.” Dean’s hand returns to his beer, and Eileen watches as his fingers close around the bottle once more. “You know, when I came back — the first time, I mean — it was Cas who pulled me out of Hell.”

“Oh.” Eileen’s not entirely sure what to say to that. “That was nice of him.”

“Yeah.” Dean shakes his head and raises the bottle to his lips. “Turns out, though, it was always part of the stupid plan. The _story_. You know, I never thanked Cas — not really. But now I’m thinkin’, why should I? It’s not like he ever _wanted_ to save me, anyway.”

Eileen tilts her head to the side. “Dean,” she says. “Is everything okay?”

Dean takes another swig and sets the bottle down, a little too roughly this time. “Yeah. Sorry, there’s just a lot that’s gone down these past few weeks, and I — well, it doesn’t matter.”

Frowning, Eileen walks closer until she can place her hand on the edge of the table. Dean is avoiding her gaze now, so she waits until he finally looks back up at her to say, “It does matter.”

Dean sighs. “I appreciate the concern, Eileen, I do, but… but there’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing _anyone_ can do.”

“That’s not true,” Eileen says. “You’re hurting, Dean, and it’s not going to get better if you don’t let anyone help you. So… maybe try talking about it.”

Dean doesn’t reply. He averts his gaze again, suddenly becoming very interested with the cracks on the floor.

“I saw you,” Eileen says. “You and Castiel. I wasn’t going to tell you this, but when I was trying to get you and Sam to see me all that time, I ended up witnessing what happened. I mean, I don’t… I don’t _know_ what happened, or what’s going on, really, but I know it’s getting to you. And I know you’re refusing to talk to Sam about it, which means it must be pretty bad.”

For a moment, Eileen thinks Dean might be angry that she didn’t tell him about this sooner, because his eyes dart up and he looks at her for a few seconds, his face blank. Then, his expression twists into one of complete sadness and despair. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. After tapping the screen a few times, Eileen can see the contact from where she sits — a selfie of the angel taken at an awkward angle, and underneath it, a phone number and a name written in big, bold letters: Cas.

“I always think about calling him,” Dean admits. “But I never do. Because why the hell would I? He _left_. But then… well, let’s just say we had a chance phone call today. And he… he sounded so _angry._ ” 

He digs his teeth into his lower lip, and Eileen thinks maybe he _is_ drunker than she first thought, because his face is turning red and there are tears in his eyes. She sits in the chair next to him, showing him that she’s inclined to be there for him if he needs to talk about it. So he does. He doesn’t put his heart on his sleeve for Eileen to see, but the words that come out of his mouth next help Eileen begin to piece this situation together.

“He has a right to be angry,” Dean mutters. “I was a dick. I know I was. But he, well — I don’t forgive him for what he did. I _want_ to, but I don’t. Would there be a point in forgiving him, anyways? It’s not like there was ever a point to _us_ , because God was pullin’ the strings this entire time. So maybe I should just forget about Cas, y’know? It’s not like any of it ever mattered in the first place. He can be as angry as he wants, because nothing’s changed. Nothing is _going_ to change.”

“To be fair,” Eileen says. “I was supposed to stay dead and become a crazy ghost, but that definitely changed.”

“That’s different,” Dean says.

“How?”

Dean doesn’t have an answer to that, so Eileen leans forward in her seat and elaborates. “Sam told me a little bit about the God thing,” she tells him. “Not much, but some. And I don’t know a lot, but I think maybe — maybe God’s making the rules, but you and Sam, you guys can break them.”

“I don’t think it’s that simple anymore,” Dean says. “Actually, I don’t think it ever has been. It’s so hard to figure out what the rules are, and if anything we do is actually breaking them or if _everything_ is a part of his dumbass plan.”

“And you think you and Cas… you think all of that was planned out by God, and that none of it was ever real?”

“There is no _me and Cas_ ,” Dean grumbles. “And I _know_ none of it was ever real.”

Eileen sighs. “Listen, Dean. I have no way of telling you what’s real and what isn’t. But I can tell you all about what _feels_ real. When I came back — when _Sam_ brought me back — everything I felt in that moment was real. The happiness, the confusion, the… well, you know.” She rolls her eyes, because Dean knows what she’s getting at here, of course he does, and there’s a little smirk playing on his lips despite everything. “And that’s my point, Dean. Maybe all of this is God’s rules, or his story for our lives, or whatever. But everything in here?” She puts a hand over her heart. “This is real. So if Cas leaving makes you sad, or angry, or however it makes you feel, those feelings are real, and I don’t think you should ignore them. I think they matter. I think they matter a lot.”

Dean is quiet for a few moments. He lowers his head as Eileen’s words sink in, then he looks back up at her and says, voice a bit lighter than it was before, “You’re pretty wise, you know that?”

“I’m aware,” Eileen teases. Dean smiles, and although the smile is tight and marked with pain, it shows sincerity in the smallest amount. Eileen’s not sure if she got through to him — maybe her words went in one ear and out through the other, and didn’t have any effect on Dean at all. But there’s not much else she can do, because this situation is Dean’s to figure out, not hers.

“I should probably try to get some sleep,” she says. She collects her water and her cold slice of pizza and stands up, but before she leaves, Dean has one last thing to say.

“Eileen?” She looks at him expectantly, and smiles when his lips form a very honest “Thank you.”

Things aren’t going to get better right away; not for anyone. Eileen knows this. Visions of Hell still swarm in her mind, Dean’s still suffering from a broken heart (which he probably won’t fully admit any time soon), and Sam — well, Sam may have smiled a lot today, but soon enough, he’ll take on the weight of another thousand problems because that’s just what he does. 

But it’ll be okay. Because even if everything goes downhill, they’ve always got more cards to play. And this time, Eileen will be around to help play them.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! comments & kudos are always appreciated <3
> 
> follow me on twitter and tumblr, both @ gilliestiel :)


End file.
